Fleet ops box set, p.30
Fleet Ops Box Set, page 30
What will? Husher wondered. He stepped dutifully onto the platform all the same.
After a moment, the platform began to gently lower. As it did, he found himself looking at the smooth, unblemished sides of the cylinder he was sliding down.
After what seemed like only a few dozen feet, the sides fell away, and the platform lowered him into another circular chamber, this one larger than the first. He looked up and realized he couldn’t see the top. How fast had the platform been moving?
He faced a long desk that formed an unbroken circle around him. Scions sat around the outside of that desk. Seeing so many of them in one place was helpful. It gave him a sense of how much variation their species had. Their red skin, which had appeared so uniform as he’d met each individual Scion, actually seemed to run the gamut of red shades from scarlet to maroon. He wondered if that was due to living in different parts of the planet, or something inherited from birth. Likewise, there were subtle facial differences, though they all bore sharper features than any human’s face.
Their body shapes, however, seemed more or less uniform. They were all ropey and thin. Husher was in good shape, but he felt positively chunky next to the Scions he’d seen.
“What Regan has said is true,” one of the aliens said, its red turnip of a head tilted slightly, large eyes contemplative.
“Oh?” Husher asked, now knowing where the creature was going with this.
“Your ancestors walk with you.”
There was a murmur around the table from the other Scions. They were all dressed in similar garb—midnight-black robes, identical to each other.
“What does that mean?” Husher asked. Regan had explained it, but he wanted to hear these aliens explain it to him again.
“The past is an unknowable maelstrom. Unknowable, except through our ancestors. Progress stems from those able to commune with their ancestors, and to filter the bounty they offer.”
“Filter?”
“The past is a silt-filled river. We cannot drink silt, just as not everything that brought advantage before will bring it now, but to break with the past altogether is deadly folly. That is why the Ancestrals are so vital. You are an Ancestral, Captain Husher, and we must discover whether you hear your ancestors clearly enough to help us win out over the encroaching darkness.”
“The Brood?”
“Indeed.”
Husher wasn’t sure he bought into this ‘Ancestral’ business, but he was sure that he needed the Scions to become more enthusiastic allies, if they were to have any chance of surviving for much longer in this pocket universe. They needed to become much more enthusiastic.
He chose to play along, at least for now. “How do we discover whether I hear my ancestors clearly enough?”
“The same way every Scion has discovered it, unto antiquity. You must strike out into the void where our ancestors wander, lost until the Ancestrals recover them.”
“The void? Do you mean space? I just came from space.”
“The undervoid, Captain. As above, so below.”
Husher blinked.
“A team awaits below to usher you into the undervoid. Do you accept this charge? Will you seek your ancestors’ wisdom?”
“Yes.”
“Good fortune to you, then, Captain.”
With that, the platform under Husher began to descend once more.
Chapter 5
Ancestral Undervoid
Skisel, Scion homeworld
The platform seemed to descend forever. Husher was feeling just about done with this little trip down the rabbit hole when the walls fell away. This time, the lift descended into a room much smaller than either of the chambers he’d seen before.
There were four Scions waiting for him at the bottom, each bearing a circular pack with straps that crisscrossed the torso.
“Regan!” Husher said, a little more excitedly than was probably necessary. But considering Regan was the only Scion that he could actually recognize, he thought he could be forgiven.
“Captain.” Regan held up both of his hands in greeting, displaying his palms.
Hesitantly, Husher responded in kind. “Regan, I’m hoping you can explain what the hell is going on here.”
“You are here to contact your ancestors,” Regan said.
“I got that part. It’s the specifics of exactly how I’m supposed to go about it that I’m a little fuzzy on.”
The alien shook his head, and Husher was reminded of watching him apologize for not sending his fleet out to help them in the asteroid belt. That memory soured the mood a bit for Husher. “If you engage in the rituals with foreknowledge of them, it won’t work.”
Of course, Husher thought. Can’t make this too easy.
“Your ancestors are lost in chaos, as all are before they are discovered. If you do not enter the chaos, then you’ll never be able to commune with them.”
“And that would be bad?” Husher said. “Because I have some ancestors I’m pretty sure I’d like to leave undiscovered.”
Regan cocked his long face. “Is that an attempt at humor, Captain?”
“An attempt.”
“I have spent enough time with your kind to appreciate it, but others might not.”
That was a less than subtle message. “Okay. Can we at least go over what steps I’ll need to take?”
Regan held out two circular packs, similar to the ones he and the other Scions wore. None of the others spoke to Husher, though they all took turns glancing furtively at him, similar to how his minders had earlier. He wondered if these guys were going to resort to out-and-out gawking too.
Husher investigated the packs and found that one contained water, which could be drunk directly from a screw-on cap, and the other had a solid, chalky substance that looked a bit like a block of cheese. “I recognize the water. Am I to assume this is food?” He poked at the chalky object cautiously.
“Correct, Captain. It was made especially for you, based on our understanding of your physiology.”
“I was under the impression that you didn’t know that much about us.” Husher lifted out the block of food. It was lighter than he expected. Its edges were smooth, like it had been manufactured rather than cooked or…baked.
Regan’s solemn gaze remained on Husher’s face. “We extracted the necessary information from the cookbook you sent us to establish language connections.”
Husher had to laugh at that. If he wasn’t careful, that cookbook trick was going to be the main thing he was remembered for on this mission. He sniffed the block. “What is it?”
“It is an omelet with Snaw meat—we believe it to be similar to your ham.”
Husher looked at the block again. “This is an omelet?”
“We followed the dietary instructions.”
Husher smiled. Off to see my ancestors, touting a block of alien ham omelet. This should be interesting. “This will do fine. I assume the pack will keep it fresh?”
“It is designed to do so.”
There was something a little disconcerting about the materials for the journey. It was clear that they were durable and well-constructed. In other words, they were made to last. He didn’t know how long this journey might take, but it appeared the Scions were preparing him for something lengthy. “How long will this take?”
“That is up to you. And your ancestors.”
“Sounds…very open-ended.”
“If you engage in the rituals—”
Husher gave an impatient nod. “Right. No foreknowledge. I remember.”
Regan cocked his head again, then pointed at Husher’s sidearm. “Weapons are forbidden in the undervoid.”
He sighed, handing it over. With that, the other three Scions stepped onto the circular platform that Husher had ridden down on.
“This thing again, huh?” He stepped on with Regan. The space was tight, and Husher found it somewhat uncomfortable on the platform, in part because the other Scions had dropped the pretense of furtive glancing and were now openly staring at him.
Right on cue.
The platform started down, starting what promised to be the most awkward elevator ride in history, with the Scions all staring holes in his head. If this lasts much longer, they might give in to the temptation to start poking and prodding me.
The circular platform exited the main shaft to descend into a huge, well-lit cavern. The walls appeared mostly natural, though there were portions that looked rough and broken, like they’d been machined away.
The platform landed on the cavern floor.
Regan and the others stepped calmly off the platform and began walking toward a tunnel with a low overhang, with what appeared to be support columns on either side. Either the tunnel was very old, or it was close to collapsing, or both. The Scions walked confidently through all the same. Husher followed.
Inside, the tunnel sloped gently downward. The walls were covered with bioluminescent lichen, lending the tunnels an eerie turquoise light that pulsed gently. The first tunnel connected to another, which connected to another. Each appeared to slope more steeply downward than the one before. Their path took them through intersection after intersection, and before long Husher felt hopelessly lost.
Questions filled Husher’s head, like how long this would take, what sort of things should he be watching for, and when would the first “ritual” start.
Regan’s answer: “Ignorance must always precede knowledge.”
Another of the Scions spoke the instant Regan fell silent: “The Ancestral must forge order from chaos. In this task, he is alone.”
Then, a third: “As above, so below.”
Husher took the hint and stopped asking questions.
They passed another statue covered with strange geometric shapes—similar to several he’d seen already. He guessed they were grave markers, though he didn’t ask. He’d learned his lesson on that score.
Were all the Scions buried here? Husher was starting to think so. It made the tunnels seem even creepier.
After a time, he couldn’t stop himself from asking another question of Regan. “When will this start, Regan? When can I be expected to commune with my ancestors? They aren’t buried here, after all. They weren’t even buried in this universe.”
He braced himself to be told to embrace ignorance again, but this time Regan surprised him with an answer. “The site of their physical remains is irrelevant. Our ancestors dwell in chaos, and chaos is everywhere.”
Husher was starting to realize that when Regan did give him an answer, it only spawned more questions.
As they continued down the tunnels, some architectural features began to recur. The support beams repeated over and over, except they bore no pattern. Some were vertical, others horizontal, and still others diagonal. Some bisected the tunnel down the center, forcing the travelers to duck underneath. Others, they hopped over.
On several occasions, they passed wooden structures built into the tunnels themselves. Walking through one was like passing through a dwelling, the interior lit through windows left open to the glowing lichen.
Husher made a study of joining tunnels as they passed them. He marveled at how extensive this network truly was.
The journey was taking a toll on him. His calves began to ache, and it took willpower not to drag his feet. His Scion traveling companions seemed completely unaffected.
The open gawking had come to an end, and he wondered if that might be a sign they were tiring. Maybe they just didn’t show it in the same way he did.
Husher felt glad to have Regan and the others as his guides, since without them it was clear he’d have no idea how to find his way back to the surface. He’d lost track within minutes of entering the tunnels.
I might be getting too old for this sort of thing.
Without warning, the Scions came to a halt, and Regan gestured to his pack. Husher pulled his off, and so did the others. The Scions began to eat in silence, and Husher joined them.
He had to admit, for a block of rubbery omelet, it tasted pretty good. He broke off chunks like it was a large loaf of bread. The ham-like meat—Snaw meat, Regan had called it—bore a smoky flavor. When he washed it down with water from the other pack, he found the liquid had a slightly bitter taste.
He finished eating, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, since napkins hadn’t been included. He was putting his pack back on to resume walking with the others when he heard a scream come from the mouth of a nearby side tunnel. He looked at the Scions, but none of them reacted.
“Did you hear that?”
Regan turned to him, but his face expressionless. The alien was always hard to read, but this was next-level.
“I heard someone screaming,” Husher said slowly. “Should we check it out?”
“No.” With that, Regan started walking again, and the other Scions fell in with him.
Husher took one last look down the side tunnel, then started walking after the others. “I’m sure I heard something—”
“Husher!” a hoarse voice called from the side tunnel.
He stopped walking.
Regan seemed to sense his hesitation. “No,” he said, again shaking his head.
With reluctance, Husher followed him and the others, but the strangeness of it all was starting to wear on his nerves now. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck standing at attention. He followed behind Regan, his throat tightening and his mouth dry even though he’d just taken a gulp from his water.
He was sweating. He hadn’t noticed the sweat on the walk down, but now he sensed it acutely.
They walked on for several minutes in tense silence. As they progressed, Husher’s bladder reminded him that he’d recently drunk a lot of water.
After a somewhat comical moment of communicating his dilemma to Regan, the Scion gestured toward a cavern ahead. When Husher reached it, an underground stream greeted him, burbling along the far wall of the cavern. The splash of running water wasn’t doing him any favors, but Regan gestured toward the stream bank, near a series of stalagmites as tall as Husher.
Husher slipped around one, did his business, and emerged to find that the Scions were gone.
Seriously? Had they just pulled the oldest trick in the book on him?
Husher called out Regan’s name, his voice echoing through the empty cavern. His heart rate began to rise. Memories of childhood pranks came back to him, except somehow he didn’t think the Scions would be hiding around the bend, waiting to laugh at his panic.
He noticed something peculiar about the lichen around him, clinging to the sides of the stalagmites. It was pulsing in time to his own accelerated heartbeat.
Then the pulsing sped up, out-pacing his heart. Before long, the stalagmites were strobing rapidly, almost flickering, at a rate that made him wince.
With that, the lichen went out, casting Husher into darkness.
Chapter 6
Main DFAC
UHC Relentless
Jake scanned the sparse mess hall crowd. They were nowhere near a change of watch, so there were only a few groups of people, eating and talking, scattered around the chow hall.
His eye was drawn to the Winger standing in the kitchen window. He was operating a series of mixing machines linked together, no doubt preparing for the next wave of people to show up in a few hours.
Jake walked over and waved. The cook stopped what he was doing, wiping his talons off on the front of his apron, and gestured for Jake to join him inside the kitchen.
“Well, it’s my day to have visitors!” the cook said with a smile, the click of his beak punctuating his speech. “Or are you just after more pie like the rest of them?” He had a little twinkle in his eye.
“No pie, I swear,” Jake said. “Unless you’re offering, and then it would be rude not to have some, wouldn’t it?”
The Winger reared back his head and laughed. For a Winger, the cook had a belly laugh like a human. It made Jake smile.
It was nice to see a friendly face. The Winger’s name was Byll, and Jake knew he was the real reason he was here—the real reason he’d found himself in the mess hall without really thinking about where he’d been headed.
He owed Byll, for one thing. The last time he’d seen him, Jake had needed to get his head out of his ass and stop moping around. The cook had set him on the right path.
Whether he’d actually managed to be the proper leader his team actually needed, that was another thing.
Tucker was still Tucker. They might have had a moment together on that asteroid as they fought off the hive mind, but the moment had faded faster than the fighting had.
Moe had already told Jake that Tucker was back to badmouthing him, and worse than ever. It was bad enough to have a hothead talking shit about him behind his back, but it was another thing when he was using the fight on the asteroid to do it.
“He’s telling everyone he saved you,” Moe had said. “He’s calling you washed up. Says you should have seen that trick coming from a mile away. Says your mech was completely destroyed on that rock, and you’d be dead if not for him.”
The most grating thing was, some of it was true. Jake’s mech had been badly damaged. It was still being repaired now, and for the time being he’d been forced into a fresh one from the supply ships.
He was desperate to get his old mech back. Piloting a strange MIMAS mech just didn’t feel right.
Tucker had helped him—Jake was happy to give him credit for that. But Tucker wasn’t looking for credit. He was looking to undermine Jake by questioning his authority at every turn.
But Jake didn’t want to dwell on that right now. The battle had been won. He was here to thank the cook for his help. “You said it’s your day for visitors,” he said. “You mean, I’m not the only one who interrupts your day to—”
Jake stopped, having noticed the other Winger who stood close to the bulkhead. She was, in fact, eating pie as well, or had been. And she was looking at Jake.
Jake knew who it was. “I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I didn’t realize.”
“Didn’t realize what?” Commander Fesky said. “That there was someone else in here hitting him up for pie?” She laughed politely—nothing like Byll’s belly laugh, but more of a mellow chuckle. “You didn’t tell me Husher wasn’t the only human that came seeking your sage advice, Byll.”
